


Demacia Reclaimed

by DemaciasBrokenWing



Series: Stories of the Forgotten Demacian [3]
Category: League of Legends
Genre: 18.6k words, Also Draven has a potty mouth, Angst, Blood, Fighting, Gen, So it's a long read, Violence, War, did i mention the angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 08:19:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10590087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemaciasBrokenWing/pseuds/DemaciasBrokenWing
Summary: Two years after the events of the Fall of Demacia, Garen returns to his country to fight for justice. A lot of the events leading up to this short were done through RPs on my tumblr, but none of the context is lost.





	

_I never.._. _thought it would end like this._

He always knew in the back of his mind that it would more than likely occur during some terrible struggle. A war. But this kind of war… he’d never imagine it. The war to take back his home.

Demacia.

Garen Crownguard never dreamed that he would be storming the very throne room he swore to defend in order to topple a maniacal oppressor. A dark Lord who commanded the captive people with a steel fist forged from evil. Every major structure that he and his small militia had to topple in order to advance pained Garen… but it was necessary. They ensured the citizens of Demacia who had been enslaved were not harmed, and any Noxian foolish enough to stay loyal were crushed. His sister had been making the plans to regain the city from within… Garen was just the catalyst that was needed to start turning the tide.

The family was going to see about cutting the head off the snake and watch Noxus crumble from lack of a proper hierarchy.  It was a suicidal mission… but it was the only option. If Garen waited any longer, Darius would have control of more than just Demacia. There were signs of his darkness spreading into the Freljord, Piltover, and even Bandle City. The warrior was not going to allow his grave mistake to be the downfall of all of Valoran. He had forgiven Katarina for her betrayal… she had even pledged her allegiance to his cause of reclaiming Demacia, despite her former adherence to Noxus. The scars of their shattered love, however, never fully healed. How could they ever?

Three led the militia-- Luxanna Crownguard, Katarina Du Couteau, and Garen Crownguard taking the foremost point. His darkened blue eyes would glance to both women every so often as they advanced. His sister, still giving her all to be a shining beacon of positivity, was casting light magic to stop any in her path without hesitation. She had lived in the heart of captive Demacia for too long, and even still, she had not lost any of her brilliance, despite having to replace her armor and baton with unassuming robes and a branch, as well as cutting her long blonde hair to a short, boyish look to help hide her true identity. Katarina, the former Noxian and former lover, still danced with her blades in a flurry of crimson and emerald. Her deadly beauty and confidence was still there. Both of them had endured this time of chaos much better than the once proud Might of Demacia. His beard was thick and unkempt, which also showed in his now neck-length hair— grey strands of stress were scattered throughout the brown mane. New scars tattooed his skin. Tired, dark blue eyes, once full of fire and life, now reflected dull and smoldering embers. The expressions upon his war-ravaged visage were neutral as he fought, his massive greatsword made of Demacian Silversteel now being used more aggressively than it had been in the past. The precision and mastery devolved into desperate blows for survival. The only armor that now set upon him was a thin chainmail tunic beneath his clothes, and a battered and scratched pauldron with a cracked emblem of his country-- A broken wing of Demacia.

“INCOMING!!” A unit of the militia shouted. Garen’s dark eyes shot up to the sky to see flaming arrows with fletching of black and red screaming towards them. Before the warrior could take a defensive position, he felt a surge of warm energy pulse through his veins, and a shield of light was cast around his body. The arrows that would’ve struck the entire militia were effectively halted by Lux, who had summoned her prismatic barrier across everyone. The brother gave his sister an appreciate nod, which was received with an assuring smile. The warrior shifted his attention back to the advancement of their assault, fighting through what seemed to be endless waves of Noxian foot soldiers… at least the ones who remained loyal to the barbaric country.

Lux’s plan was working incredibly. Staying together and moving as one powerful, mobile unit was allowing casualties to be reduced to none at all, and they were pushing forward as one powerful phalanx… With the mightiest weapon at the head. Two other militia groups were poised on the opposing ends of the city—ready to make their move within a determined time frame to add a boon of support as the battle raged on. Garen could feel a small spark in his soul—A re-ignition. He wanted to be home… he wanted to feel alive again. To free Demacia from this evil— to find Jarvan and place him upon the throne for the city’s restoration with Xin Zhao at his side.

To beg for Luxanna’s forgiveness before he was put to death for his treasonous act.

It didn’t matter if Katarina had acquired amnesty from Garen, the warrior had been sleeping with the enemy, and that weakness caused Demacia’s fall. It was his fault. That kind of crime only had one kind of punishment in Demacian law—death. He would rather die to the hands of a Demacian executioner than to any Noxian. He needed to endure until this mission was completed. Darius had to face justice, and not for the crimes committed against Garen… but for the terror and innocent blood he had spilled across Demacia.

The militia was making their way towards the throne room quickly, entering the military district from the south. Garen observed that the buildings that had been damaged from Noxus’ initial assault had been repaired for the most part… but to see banners with their dark insignia made the former general sick to his stomach. Garen’s leather glove strained as his grip on his greatsword tightened. Seeing those flags were enough reason for him to continue this campaign.

The district was eerily quiet, yet the militia moved with purpose and careful steps. Every head was on a swivel, and weapons were drawn and at the ready. The team loyal to Demacia turned a corner and started down the road that would lead them to the throne room. The Buildings here were built close together, leaving no room from any kind of sneak attack from an alleyway, but the multitude of windows and doors left Garen at unease. Just as he was about to stop the team, a high-pitched sound of metal slicing through the air broke the silence. The weapon made impact with the cobblestone road a few feet away, planting itself into the ground as if it were acting as a sign to turn back, and the advancing team halted as Garen lifted his left fist up. That tool looked all too familiar. A curved throwing axe with a spinning handle adorned with spikes, accompanied with a curve on the end not unlike a scythe’s blade that could easily impale and slice through flesh. The only problem was that the axe was normally seen with a twin…

…and a very cocky owner.

“Well, well. Looks like Draven’s got himself a new crowd to appease,” A grisly voice echoed off the walls. “And whaddya know… The Forgotten son of Demacia returns! This is definitely Draven’s day.”

Garen’s lips were a thin, agitated line before he glanced around the buildings. “Show yourself, Executioner. Come face the justice you’ve been cowering from!” The warrior exclaimed.

“Cowering? Me?” Draven suddenly dropped from a building, landing right beside the axe he had thrown. With a smirk, he picked up the axe and started to spin it quickly. “I’m standing right here, Garen. Some coward, right?” With a huff, the man threw the spinning axe straight at Garen. The Demacian was ready to block the easily predicted attack, but Katarina had jumped ahead of the projectile and reflected it with a vicious swing from both of her daggers. The axe bounced off of the blades and fluttered in the air for a moment while moving back towards Draven. The Executioner was able to retrieve his weapon after taking a small step forward.

“Back off, Draven,” The assassin hissed, her green eyes flashing with a menacing warning, daggers drawn.  “We’re after Darius, not you.”

“Kat, I still can’t believe you threw your lot in with these jokers,” Draven chortled. “I’ll have to leave you last so you can watch your little lover boy die…”

Katarina sneered. “You won’t get the chance, bastard.” Her words were loaded with poison. “You’re a clear shot for me… and you’re easily outnumbered. Not even you could take us all down.”

Draven gave a devious smirk. “Draven may be good, but he isn’t stupid. You really think Draven’s alone, right now? That’s cute.”

A distant rumble started to roll from behind the phalanx. Garen felt his blood run cold as he slowly turned. That noise was deathly familiar. One that always beckoned death in its wake. The rumbling only increased in volume as a towering mass of grey flesh, twisted black metal, and blood red energy came charging at the militia with breakneck speed.

 _“VERRRRRMIIIIIIIIN!!!”_ A deep and monstrous voice bellowed from behind the charging energy.

“EVERYONE MOVE!!” Garen barked. The militia quickly dispersed, scattering in different directions to avoid the incoming giant. This was exactly what Draven wanted, however, as his spinning axes started to be thrown with skill and deadly precision, picking off stragglers without mercy. The giant who caused the phalanx to dismantle took a small leap into the air, and then slammed his stump of a foot into the ground, causing a shockwave of energy to knock down any unfortunate enough to be too close. As this occurred, soldiers clad in black armor emerged from the windows and doorways of the surrounding buildings, letting out roars of conquest. Chaos ensued. Lux and Katarina were lost in the bedlam as they fought their way to the Executioner, who was reveling in the bloodbath. The trap was set off perfectly, and now Garen stood face-to-face with Sion, once again as the desperate battle swirled around the two—two mighty warriors standing in the eye of a storm of metal and blood.

 _“This battle is not going to end the same way when Noxus claimed your city, you coward. This is to the death!”_ Sion growled, pointing his axe at the Demacian. _“Your pathetic resistance will crumble before you like dust! And then I will crush your skull with my hands!”_

“You will rue this day, Sion! Prepare to face justice!” Garen retorted darkly, raising his greatsword in an aggressive stance. The man felt small compared to the undead giant that stood before him, but that wasn’t going to stop the Demacian. Not one bit.

Sion made his first move, swinging the massive battleaxe downward, looking to crush Garen. This time, Garen did not make the attempt to block such a powerful blow with his greatsword. He rolled just in time for Sion to create a large point of impact in the brick floor, stone and dust being cast into the air as it happened. Garen cocked back and took a swing at the undead monster’s tree trunk of an arm with an upward vertical slash, but he was stopped as Sion unleashed a wild backhand, slamming into Garen’s gut and sending him flying into a nearby wall. The man managed to hold onto his weapon, surprisingly enough, and he climbed back up to his feet just in time to see the axe being swung horizontally towards his head. There was no time to block. Garen quickly ducked down, feeling the air around surge upwards in compliance with Sion’s powerful swing. The wall that caught Garen suffered a wound, however, and debris crashed over the man as the axe followed through to create even more wreckage. Seems like the Juggernaut had learned his lesson from their previous encounter.

 _“Stand still, you worm!”_  Sion hollered as he repositioned his body, preparing for another strike. _“You fight like you’re from Zaun!”_

Garen coughed once as the shower of stone ceased, and he glanced up at Sion with a dark sneer. “You attempt to lecture me about fighting? You Noxians are all trained to fight like bastards! Vicious hyenas with no honor—“

 _“You HAVE no honor, Garen!”_ Sion growled as he shot a hand out to grab Garen by his leg. With a powerful swing, the juggernaut threw Garen a few feet, making him skid across the ground. _“Darius ravaged that petty sentiment from you the same way he has ravaged your precious Demacia!”_

The warrior struggled to climb to his feet as Sion approached. He had no valiant words to retort with. In a way… Sion was right. The Mad Lord of Noxus had stripped Garen of his comfort, forcing the general to experience a personal hell that no other should have to endure. It changed Garen… and perhaps it was not for the better. He didn’t have time to ponder about it, however, as Sion swung his massive axe up and prepared for another decimating smash. With a desperate roar, Garen’s greatsword swung with a flash, making impact with the side of Sion’s axe, causing the heavy weapon to go off its intended course. It clipped Garen’s right shoulder, scraping the silver pauldron with a rattle, and then it collided into the ground at a sharp angle. Both the Might of Demacia and the Undead Juggernaut stumbled from the exchange of blows, but they still held onto their weapons, with the greatsword positioned on top of the battleaxe.

Garen curled his left hand into a tight fist, and he threw a cross punch into the side of Sion’s skull, missing the metal jaw of the Noxian entirely. Sion’s evil red eyes glowed with increasing anger as the human dared to strike him in such a way—twice! One hand slipped away from his axe to prepare to intercept the third blow that was being cocked back. Garen grunted loudly, raising his greatsword with one hand and quickly swinging it down before Sion could react, and the sharp weapon cleaved into Sion’s forearm that was still holding onto his axe. Dark red blood, almost black, pooled up and poured out from the wound, instead of spouting out like someone with a pulse would experience. There wasn’t enough strength in Garen’s swing to snap the bone and sever the hand off… this blow was merely going to infuriate the monster that felt no pain.

 _“Useless!”_ Sion spat out, taking his turn to punch Garen square across the jaw with his free hand. The Demacian saw stars for a moment as he staggered back, giving Sion the time to stand back upright and free his axe from the ground. _“I can see why Darius took this city like a whore. The Might of Demacia is nothing more than a sniveling worm!”_

Garen’s vision came back as he narrowed his eyes dangerously. Both hands curled around the handle of his greatsword as he planted both of his feet into the ground. “You can insult me… all you wish…” Garen’s words were quiet— but lethal. “But to slander Demacia… is inexcusable—“

Sion let out a wicked and sadistic laugh that cut through Garen’s words. _“And what shall you do then, worm? I will continue to desecrate this city, and there isn’t a damn thing you can do to stop me! You will die knowing you are as weak and pathetic as your people!”_

The Demacian’s eyes started to glow with anger. A thin veil of golden energy started to surround the length of his greatsword’s blade. It shimmered in Garen’s view, but to Sion, it was nearly invisible. There were no words spoken as the warrior charged forward. He had enough… and he wanted this battle to end. The Undead Juggernaut slowly raised his axe, preparing to swing down the moment Garen was in his threat range. Garen let out a roar as he neared the point of no return, taking a step with his right foot and then twirling left as Sion unleashed his swing.  The gigantic axe slammed into the ground again, causing the ground to erupt with an upward force, taking Garen up with it. The Demacian kept his spinning momentum, and the aura around his sword turned more intense.

“DEMACIA!!” Garen roared as the combination of gravity and his powerful downward swing made a sickening impact with Sion’s right collarbone. The discharge of energy pushed through Sion’s body and made the blade snap his hardened bones like twigs. The decisive strike cleaved through Sion’s collarbone, across his chest, and stopped at the right side of his abdomen, the metal furnace in his stomach halting the attack from cutting the monster in two. Garen grunted hard as he landed, finding that his greatsword was stuck on the metal, flesh, and bone of Sion’s body. He glanced upward just in time to see Sion’s eyes turn fully red, glowing with power. His stone-grey skin turned black. Red energy erupted from the furnace in Sion’s gut and enveloped him as the monster let out a terrifying and blood-curdling roar. Before Garen had a chance to dislodge his weapon, Sion had released his axe and smashed Garen into the ground with a wild blow from his armored left arm.

 _“DIIIIIIIEEEEEEE!!!”_ Sion managed to scream through a severed lung, cocking his fist back and slamming it hard into Garen’s chest, a cascade of black blood oozing over the Demacian at the same time. The man couldn’t make a noise as the wind was knocked out of him, and fuzzy blackness outlined his fading vision. That one punch alone broke several ribs. The next one would be more than enough to cave Garen’s chest in, unless Sion was going to crush his skull like he had promised before this bloody fight began.

Garen closed his eyes, ready to embrace his end. His time had come in this world. His only regret was that he had failed his country yet again…

Sion’s massive fist began to descend upon Garen.

An then Garen opened his eyes to be greeted with light.

Brilliant and unwavering—it was all Garen could now see.

It rushed over his head in such a brilliant luminescence. If he could move his body, he would try and reach up and touch it…

But just as suddenly as it appeared, it just as suddenly vanished. Garen blinked up, seeing a blue sky fading into purple with orange clouds looming overhead. His hearing returned with a high-pitched ring, and he could faintly hear the sounds of battle. Air slowly filled his lungs… and he could smell repugnant, dead blood and charred flesh. The last part of his body to awaken was his pain receptors… and all of them fired off in agony.

He hadn’t… died?

With a large groan, the man struggled to sit up, his body screaming in pain and his head spinning. As he gained focus on the area around him, the first thing he could register was a giant heap of a blackened corpse on its back, lying in a pool of black liquid with a battleaxe cast to the side. Garen blinked, and in the distance, he could see a single, bright figure. Her blue eyes had tears hanging on the corners, and her baton shimmered with waning energy as she lowered her hands and ran over.

“Luxanna…” Garen managed to croak, weakly reaching out for his sister.

The Lady of Luminosity slid to her knees, stopping at her brother’s side and placing a small hand on his chest and channeling a soft, warm magic through his veins. Garen could feel her power amplifying his own soul energy, mending his shattered bones and ruptured blood vessels.  The power of his soul could easily be doing the same thing on its own, right now… if he weren’t in such a concussed daze.

“By the gods, Garen…” she whispered softly with a shake of her head. “You always enjoyed making me panic over you…”

The warrior managed to give his sister a weak smile before a shallow breath managed to get into his lungs with a wheeze. “What’s my purpose, then, if I do not cause worry?” he joked in a dry manner. That managed to get a small smile from the pink lips of Lux, who then bent over and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.  The two Crownguards rose slowly, and Garen looked down to the shattered corpse of Sion.

“You certainly did a number on him.” Lux commented.

“I’d have been dead if it weren’t for your readiness, Lux.” Garen remarked as he gripped his hands around the handle of his greatsword, still embedded in Sion’s twisted pile of flesh and metal. The Demacian felt his strength returning to him as his soul replenished his vitality, and he managed to pull the massive weapon out with a firm tug. Black blood coated the blade, and Garen flicked the sword with his wrist to get some of it off. With a sigh, his eyes looked over the chaos of the battle. Demacian forces clashed with Noxian soldiers… and he couldn’t make out where Katarina or Draven were currently. “Our task is not yet complete, so my gratitude must be put on hold, for now.”

“Let’s do this.” Lux replied with a firm nod. “For Demacia.”

Garen looked to Lux for a moment before returning the nod and readying his stance. The two started their charge, and they entered the battle once again. The Noxian soldiers were strong… but they were no Undead Juggernaut.  With Garen’s strength and Lux’s power, the two slowly started to rally the remaining militia members and bring order to the mayhem. The number of fallen Noxians started to be parallel to the number of Demacians. Garen could feel something swell within his chest—something he had not felt in a very long time:

Hope.

It had been so absent in his life that it was nearly alien to him, that spark of life— always consistent and unwavering… It hadn’t been snuffed out, after all. It was faint, but it was there. He could reclaim Demacia. He could save the people. He could win. All he had to do was keep advancing.

He still couldn’t deny that his biggest challenge had yet to be faced, and Draven was still a dire, lethal threat to this mission’s integrity. Garen was still worried that he had yet to find him or Katarina… but it looked like Draven was more than willing to make his presence known.  A loud noise of metal tearing through earth and rock was heard in the distance, and before a proper reaction could be made, Draven’s twin spinning axes shot through the rebuilding militia, leaving long, gaping scars upon the ground in their terrifying wake. The axes cleaved through flesh as they spun, felling many of the Demacians while losing no momentum in the process. Draven’s signature execution technique had missed the Crownguards… but the toll paid was crippling as the axes turned about and tore through the other side, wiping out more of the soldiers that were willing to die to reclaim Demacia. Garen’s eyes ignited with anger as he watched the axes return to their owner, who scooped them up with a satisfied grin.

“Damn, I’m good!” Draven chirped, his eyes looking at the bodies he had just brought to their untimely demise. He flicked his wrists out, and the axes stopped spinning in his hands, blood flicking off the metal with the halting momentum. “That’s gotta be Draven’s biggest kill count in one sitting, yet!”

Garen’s teeth grit tightly, and he took a small step forward, sword pointed at Draven with an extended arm. “Your violence ends this day, Draven!” He ordered, the voice of the Demacian General he used to be finding its way back to his lungs. Lux stood firm beside her brother, baton in hand and lips pursed with furrowed eyebrows to show confidence and agitation. Draven’s eyes darted back and forth between the two Crownguards, his grin spreading wider across his mustached face. A gleam appeared in his eyes— one of sadism and death.

“Oh, _has_ it?” Draven asked in a challenging tone. “I don’t think your little slut would agree… right, Kat?” He took a step back and rotated to the side to let Garen see what lay behind the Executioner.

Garen’s eyes widened, and his skin ran cold.

Katarina was sitting against a wall, her head bowed over, causing a cascade of red to cover her face. Her own daggers were embedded in her shoulders, and blood flowed freely from the wounds. Her legs showed signs of severe lacerations—no doubt from Draven’s vicious axes. Her body wasn’t moving.  Garen’s dark blue eyes shot up to Draven as the Executioner moved back to his original footing.

“You look like I killed the bitch, Garen.” Draven said casually, angling his head to the side with a smirk. “Nah, Draven’s not gonna let a traitor go out so easily. She’s still got some life in her… But it may not be much.” The brother of the Mad Lord readied himself, holding his arms out and spinning his axes.

“C’mon, Demacian. Try and save her… just like you tried to save this pathetic country.”

Garen’s patience snapped—that was the second person foolish enough to insult Demacia—but this one bore the audacity to threaten a life to someone that was still, deep down inside, very dear to him. His knuckles turned white beneath straining leather gloves as he gripped tightly into his greatsword, the length of the blade turning a vibrant gold with a brilliant burst of energy. As he charged forward, a luminescent ball of light shot by his head. Lux had cast a powerful spell in hopes to snare Draven, making it easier for Garen to cleave him. Unfortunately, the Noxian was nimble. He ducked down, the ball of light whizzing over his head. He stood back up, and with a spin, he unleashed his first axe, the weapon making a straight line for Garen’s neck, and the second one was thrown straight at Lux, spinning vertically to split her in two.

The first axe was swatted down with a powerful swing from Garen’s greatsword. The weapon had no chance to bounce back to Draven as it crashed into the ground, and the Demacian kept charging. Lux, however, could not bring the axe down as she cast a prismatic barrier, the metal bouncing off the light with a loud ringing noise. The axe floated in the air for a second as it returned to Draven, and it landed in his hand just as Garen was within range of a swing from his greatsword. Garen had spun on his heel, and the swing going for Draven’s side was thwarted by a clash of steel, sparks flying as his weapon was blocked by Draven’s axe. Draven skid a short distance as Garen followed through with the powerful swing, but remained upright. A skilled cartwheel was enough to dodge an overheard swing from Garen, and Draven flipped over another binding light cast from Lux. He landed on his feet and picked up the axe he had originally lost to Garen.

“I’ll take _that._ ” Draven purred, smiling mostly to himself. The axe was spinning in no time just as the large Demacian warrior was upon him, sword poised to slash upward. The tip of the weapon dragged along the ground, creating a terrible noise before it left the rubble, swinging faster than Draven had expected. He threw his right arm downward to block the attack, but he did so just barely, and the blades of the axe ceased spinning around the handle, effectively grabbing the sword like a vice. Draven’s own strength was enough to keep the greatsword parallel with the ground, preventing Garen from following through with his swing. The Exectutioner cocked his left arm back, and the axe extended, spinning as it prepared to come down on Garen’s arms to cause serious damage.

Garen had to make a choice—let go of his Greatsword or potentially lose an arm. His instinct chose the former, and the Demacian dropped down, releasing his weapon in the process. Draven was not anticipating such a maneuver, and it caused him to lose balance in combination with the sudden weight on his right arm, and it caused him to lean forward. Garen took advantage of this, and his powerful leg swept out, smashing into Draven’s ankle. A jolt of pain shot up Garen’s leg as the leather boot made contact with the metal sabaton that covered Draven’s foot, but the impact was enough to send the Executioner tumbling down. The axe that had held onto the greatsword crashed into the ground, leaving Draven’s grip as he hit the ground with a loud thud. His left hand still held onto his axe, but the blades stopped spinning as they clanged against the cobblestone. Garen’s head snapped back to Lux, who had been preparing to take another shot at Draven, but was having difficulty in potentially hitting her brother in the process.

“See to Katarina!” Garen shouted quickly. Lux nodded, albeit with a touch of hesitance, but she complied and started to run towards the fallen assassin. Draven grimaced as he watched the woman run, and with a grunt, he picked himself up with his right arm, resting on his knees before he threw his axe at her legs. Garen attempted to stop the attack by tackling Draven back to the ground, but the spinning metal was already on its way. Lux let out a sharp cry as she just missed a direct hit with the lethal blades—but the whirlwind of metal sliced through her calf, leaving a deep, bleeding wound that caused her to fall forward.

“Luxanna!” Garen shouted, a bout of fear taking over him before he saw the woman struggle to her knees. She looked back to Garen, giving a small nod before she started to struggle towards Katarina, crawling with a trail of blood behind her. Garen’s teeth clenched tightly, and his bright blue eyes snapped down to the smug visage of Draven. The Demacian turned Draven around to set him upon his back, and before a word could come out of the brazen lips of the Noxian, a vicious right fist slammed across his jaw. A bloodied tooth jettisoned out of Draven’s mouth and skipped across the stone.

“You got some fuckin’ nerve, touching me like that!” Draven barked, his anger spilling over as he looked up to Garen. He raised his left arm and then slammed his bladed vambrace into Garen’s left shoulder with enough force to split open his chainmail. Fresh blood spurted out of the wound and landed on Draven’s face. The Demacian let out a pained grunt as Draven twisted the blade into the flesh, causing more blood to drip around the metal and down Draven’s arm.

“And there’s no nerve to be had upon striking my sister in such a foul manner?!” Garen growled from clenched teeth. His right hand cocked back to try another swing, but the punch was blocked by Draven’s open fist. The struggle between the two men began. Garen was clearly stronger than Draven… but the pain he was enduring from the blade in his shoulder was weakening his resolve.

“Because she was on the way to save your redhead, right?” Draven taunted, pushing his elbow up to dig the blade deeper into Garen’s muscle. “You actually forgave her for what she did to you?! How pathetic! I can’t believe you fell in _love_ with her!”

Garen roared out, his head cocking back as searing hot pain wracked his nerves. His left hand attempted to grab at Draven’s embedded vambrace, but the Executioner had already locked his elbow to ensure Garen wasn’t going anywhere. The Demacian moved his right hand back, and he started to reach around his back in attempts to pull out a large dagger he had tucked behind his coat. Draven took this opportunity to use the other vambrace he had on his right arm, and he slammed the blade into Garen’s chest—just below the pauldron that protected his shoulder. It wasn’t striking anything vital, but the pain and blood loss was enough to make Garen roar out again as he struggled to grasp the handle of his dagger.

“You’re seriously cramping Draven’s style.” Draven growled as Garen’s blood rained down on him from both open wounds. “But exceptions can be made when it’s someone as high-profile as you…”

Garen’s hand shook as it palmed the polished wooden handle of his dagger. Nerve endings struggled to force his fingers to curl around the weapon. With a soft tug at the dagger, Garen grimaced with pain. The damage Draven had inflicted was causing the warrior’s arm to seize up. If he were to yank at his dagger and make an attack, the blade embedded in his chest could easily tear his flesh asunder and his arm would be permanently damaged, no matter what healing his soul power could perform.

The two were at a stalemate… but the scale was tipping in Draven’s favor with every drop of blood that left Garen’s severed veins. The Demacian’s mind raced as he tried to think of an option… but any kind that would come up  would result in the vambraces tearing  through his body in some way, shape, or form. A knee to the groin even popped up in Garen’s head for a fleeting second—but it was quickly discarded due to both how dishonorable it was to him, and the fact that Draven was wearing a brutal looking codpiece that would more than likely cause more damage to the knee and not much to the groin. Tactical thought turned into desperation, and Garen’s left hand shifted downward, grasping at Draven’s neck and putting as much power he could into his fingers to squeeze the trachea. It wasn’t enough to completely choke, however, as Draven was able to huff out a strained laugh.

“So you bleed out… while trying to strangle me…” The Noxian mocked in a raspy voice, a toothy grin spreading across his wickedly sadistic expression. “Some Demacian you are-“

A whirling sound of metal and the sickening impact of a blade sinking into flesh and bone interrupted Draven’s taunting. Draven’s eyes widened as he saw a large, curved dagger already stained crimson sunk itself into the bicep that was jamming his vambrace into Garen’s right shoulder. The Noxian growled in deep pain as strength started to leave his muscle with his draining blood. The dagger looked like… one that Katarina would use.

“Fuckin’… bitch…” Draven coughed.

The second dagger was unleashed. It landed near where the first one was embedded, another burst of blood coming from the arm. This one severed the sinew that kept the bones together, and Draven’s arm lost all of its strength. Garen felt the pressure being eased up on his chest, and the vambrace’s blade loosened from his muscle. Without a word, Garen drew out his dagger and released Draven’s throat.  The cold steel gleamed in the dying sunlight before it became coated with a golden energy, much like Garen’s greatsword.

Draven’s eyes widened in shock. For a fleeting second, he could see a spark within Garen’s eyes. One that looked like the flicker of a golden flame… something that was born deep inside and could not be created by the manipulation of magic.

The power of Garen’s soul.

That second was interrupted, however, as a burning blade was thrust deep into his heart. Draven choked and blood shot out from his mouth, and his left arm unhinged from Garen’s chest.   His body ignited with a white hot burst of energy before the cold grasp of death started to encroach around his body. The look of utter distress slowly, almost painfully, turned into one last smug grin.

“Couldn’t… kill me on your own… bastard.” Draven gasped out as he kept his grin, blood pooling up and sliding down his cheeks and neck while his head tilted back and rested upon the ground. “See you in Hell… weakling…”

A shallow cough passed through collapsed lungs.

His lips curled into a sickening smile.

And a final laugh evaporated into the air as Draven’s eyes turned lifeless, staring at Garen.

Garen let out a gasp of pain as he started to climb to his feet, yanking the dagger out of Draven’s chest as he did so. The Demacian’s body screamed in agony, the two open wounds on his chest oozing blood and sending distress signals to his mind. As Garen wiped the blood away from his dagger and returned the weapon to its sheath, he slowly and carefully took in a deep breath. Draven’s blades had not sliced into his lungs, it seemed. That was good… being able to breathe was a major key to allow Garen’s soul to heal the body at such an impressive rate... The wounds would seal—but scars from such an encounter would form. Garen’s power wasn’t perfect—it couldn’t replace severed limbs or restore mortal injuries.  His shimmering eyes looked down at the lifeless body of Draven, his face, torso, and arms drenched in the two kinds of blood. A deep breath filled the Demacian’s lungs as Draven’s words rang in his head, haunting rational thought.

Twice Garen had almost perished at the hands of Noxians today. Twice during combat he had lost his weapon. Twice… he had to be helped to get out of the situation he was in. How, then, could he ever expect to face Darius? Garen wanted to prove to the Mad Lord that Demacia was a spirit that could not be broken…

…But what if _he_ already was? He was willing to choke a man’s life out of his body. He had killed many evil men in his past… but never in such a barbaric way—and never out of spite or in anger. Garen looked to his greatsword, still on the ground and intertwined with the Executioner’s axe. Could he ever bear the right to utilize a once honorable method of protecting his home and his people ever again?

“Garen…”

The voice was distant and echoed in his head as he slowly came out of his trance. The man’s darkened face glanced over to the source of his name being called. Lux was sitting beside Katarina… blood seemed to be everywhere. His sister’s eyes were solemn and conflicted. Her small hands were pressing down upon Katarina’s chest—a piece of her own clothing torn in a feeble attempt to stop the blood that was rushing out from the wounds Draven had inflicted upon her. Lux’s own leg was bound with another strip of cloth—stained red, but no longer bleeding freely. Garen felt his heart sink to his stomach as he dashed over to the two and knelt on Katarina’s other side. His right hand moved to cup the assassin’s cheek. Calloused fingers could feel her skin growing colder by the second.

“I can’t… stop the bleeding…” Lux spoke in a sad whisper, her eyes lowered. “The daggers went all the way through… and then she pulled them out on her own to attack Draven. I tried to stop her but—she just wouldn’t listen…”

Garen’s hand smoothed down Katarina’s face, his finger tips stopping at her chin as a low groan, nearly inaudible, passed through her lips. The man quickly moved his hand back up, lifting her head to take a look at her eyes. They were just barely open—and they were focused on Garen’s rugged features.

“I told you… I would die for you…” Katarina’s voice was weak and trembling. Her red lips tried to curl into a small smirk, but a sudden loss of consciousness caused her eyes to roll back into her skull, her head flopping back in the process. Garen quickly caught her head from going back any further, and he shifted to cradle her upper half in his arms, Lux still trying to bring some solace to her ruptured flesh.

“Katarina… no…” Garen’s voice was quiet as he attempted to comfort the redheaded Noxian—former Noxian. “I am not worth dying for…”

Her fingers weakly reached up to touch Garen’s lips. It was a gentle brush—but enough to give Katarina just the right amount of strength to smile.

“Then Demacia… is worth dying for.” She breathed out. “Just like you told me…”

Garen slowly closed his eyes as he sighed softly. He didn’t want his own logic being thrown at him. Not now. He wanted Katarina to live. He wanted everything to go back to normal. He wanted peace… and he wanted to love her again. The span of two years tore their relationship apart… and no miracle would be able to put the pieces together again. Human emotion, unlike a crumbling country, was irreversible.

“Katarina…” Garen whispered against her fingers. “You’re not going to die. I’ll find a way to-“

“No. It has to be this way… It was always going to be this way.” Katarina admitted quietly. “Our fates were never meant to be happy, Garen… We both knew it in the back of our minds…”

Her fingers slipped away from the Demacian’s lips, and she brushed her digits along her own. It was the closest thing to a kiss she could muster… or ask for. With everything that she had done to him in the past… Katarina didn’t even feel as though she was worthy of being held by Garen in her last moments. Her lips quivered as she could hear the call of the end. Her eyes started to close in a vain attempt to hide her fear as she reached for Garen’s chest— reaching for his heart. The one thing that she knew would never change.

“Garen… I love you…”

Her hand fell limp, sliding down his chest and hanging from her side as a tear escaped her closed eyes, leaving a streak of wet dirt along her cheek.

Garen’s hands shook as he clutched to the woman close to his chest, a stifled noise of utter sorrow leaving his throat. Luxanna sat back on her knees, her frown small, casting her eyes down. She couldn’t stand to see her brother in this kind of pain… even if she disagreed with his choice of attempting to pursue Katarina. He had to have seen something within her that Lux did not. The warrior drew in a long breath as he quietly mourned over the assassin’s body. In the end, she had finally given her loyalty to Demacia… But it came too late. Another life that was consumed by the madness of Darius… and Garen couldn’t stop it when it was the most important to him. He slowly lifted his head, eyes down-trodden and distraught as he turned to look at the quiet field of battle.

Bodies lay everywhere. The stench of blood and death was strangling the air. Swords, shields, arrows, axes… the steel used to fashion the weapons here could be melted down and reformed to create a statue that could scrape the clouds in the sky. Garen let out a low sigh. So much life had been sacrificed. So many people wanted to reclaim Demacia and restore it to what it was before… Now, they would not live to see that day come. He glanced back down to Katarina’s face. His expression turned neutral and distant as he gently lowered the woman to the ground, laying her out on her back. The time to bury and honor the dead would come later. His powerful body slowly stood, eyes fixated on his greatsword a short distance away.

“Garen…?” Lux called to her bother quietly, finding the strength to stand up on her own. Walking, however, was going to prove difficult as she limped in an attempt to follow Garen who was now making his way towards the weapon. He bent over slowly, reaching out to the massive piece with his right hand. He hoisted the weapon made of Silversteel up, and the dying sunlight reflected off of the masterfully crated edge.

“Luxanna…” Garen spoke quietly, his words reflecting the time he had spent in the wilderness… preparing himself for this moment. “…I am going to face Darius alone.”

Lux’s throat was dry, but she slowly nodded. “I know you are.” She responded in a hushed, concerned tone. She wanted to argue with him so badly—but she already knew that her brother would not accept her points. Despite how battered and broken his body was… How utterly vanquished his mentality seemed to be… The man’s soul was still there. Quiet and smoldering, now… But the warmth was still there… and it kept Garen going. The warrior was truly the embodiment of perseverance. Her eyes widened softly as Garen turned to look back at his sister.

His eyes… There was something different about them. The golden spark that Draven saw was now faded ribbons of energy that seemed to wisp around Garen’s irises… almost like spirits. The Demacian blinked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked to Lux inquisitively. She looked as though she was looking at a completely different man…

“Luxanna…?” Garen asked with a worried inflection. “I assure you that our mission will not fail… Even if I should perish. The glory of Demacia is unending… its spirit of justice inhabits every being that hold true to our standards. Darius’ days are numbered… no matter what.”

Lux took in a breath to snap herself out of her initial shock, and she gave Garen another meek nod. Those words were always spoken with such assured confidence in Garen. It reminded her of the times before this land was occupied by their sworn enemies. For the first time in two years, Garen sounded more like himself. It did cause her to smile—if only for the novelty of inspiration finding its way through the bleak scenario.

“For Demacia we live and die.” Lux spoke calmly, reiterating the creed of any Demacian soldier.

“For through Demacia our serenity lies.” Garen replied, finishing the saying… the one he couldn’t finish when he watched one of his soldiers take Darius’ deadly blow in his stead. The Demacian vowed he would never let anyone else do that ever again. This time, if Darius was to strike for the kill, it would be Garen falling. He was not about to sacrifice his sister… she was too vital to restoring Demacia to the glory it once held.

The brother approached the sister, placing the greatsword in the scabbard attached to his back before he embraced the woman. Lux’s hands trembled gently as she moved her arms to return the hug to Garen. Fear started to grip into her heart. She had just found Garen again—she did not want to lose him forever, now. A suppressed sob escaped from her lips as she buried her face into Garen’s tunic. The smell of sweat and blood didn’t matter… she just wanted to feel his warmth. For what could be the very last time.

“Please… please do your best to live.” Lux cried quietly.

Garen closed his eyes slowly, moving a hand to stroke her short, blonde hair. Just one more moment with her would suffice— another chaste minute to remind himself why he fought so adamantly. For the freedom and peace of his sister… and every Demacian that lived under the shadow of evil and oppression… A shadow he had so carelessly brought upon the land. He bowed his head and placed a small kiss to the top of her head.

“I will fight like I never have before in my life, Lux.” Garen whispered into her hair. “I can promise you that much.” The man pulled away from the hug slowly as she sucked in a sobbing breath through clenched teeth.

“See to mending your leg, sister.” Garen said, putting a large hand upon her shoulder. “Darius will be awaiting an army… but he is going to receive something much worse.”

The Lady of Luminosity nodded hollowly as the warrior took a step back from her, and then began to walk towards the inner courtyard of the throne room. It was there Garen nearly died to Darius… and it would be there where the general would test his absolute limit. Before he could cover too much distance, he heard his sister shout out to him:

“Demacian!”

Garen slowly turned to look to her.

Lux’s eyes were brimming with tears, still, but her face was stoic and strong.

“Virtue soars upon what wind?” She asked, voice unwavering.

Garen watched Lux for a moment, his cold blue eyes solemn and quiet, right now. She had asked him the question Demacians would use to identify each other in cases where they were split up or in any kind of covert operation. It was a simple code, yes… but it held a deeper meaning now more than ever. His dry lips parted to respond:

“The breath of wisdom that upholds all honor, duty, and justice.” Garen responded, giving Lux a very small, but genuine, smile. The young woman gave Garen a nod before she bowed her head and folded her hands over her lap. It was the closest thing she could to saying how much she cared… and how urgently she wanted him to be safe. However… he needed to hold fast to his task… and she didn’t wish to overburden him with even more emotional stress.

The warrior nodded back to her, and then turned back, continuing his path. The walk was eerily quiet—the only noises of combat coming from the distance. The other militias had begun their attacks on the East and Western fronts, acting as a perfect diversion to allow Garen the time he needed to get to the throne room. He hadn’t expected to take this path alone, however. His heart raced with warm blood, his soul charging his body and healing his wounds gradually. Physically, he was ready for the battle to come… It was just taking time to prepare for what might be beyond the courtyard in his mind.

The Demacian’s steps started to slow as he entered the inner court. The stench of rotten flesh was nearly unbearable here. The normally white-washed streets were stained with dark red and smeared across the brick with drag marks. In the center—there was a pile of corpses. Crows and flies were all over the rancid bodies, reveling in the feast. Garen’s eyes widened in shock and horror, seeing what he could only assume were Demacians who were unfortunate enough to remain within the country… and perhaps Noxian defectors who found their new lord’s methods to be too extreme.

…Darius turned this place into an executioner’s grounds.

The warrior let out a long sigh of dwindling patience. The fire that was once nothing more than smoldering embers was now fully ignited—almost to the point where his soul was a wildfire… and only true justice would be able to sate the flames. This… was too far. To treat human beings with such disregard… It was maddening to contemplate why this display of brutality was even necessary. To see his countrymen slain by the hundreds and dumped here to decay in the open… It was the most insulting thing he had yet to see.

 His eyes turned upward, following up the massive pile, which he assumed to be at least seven feet high. He squinted for a moment, seeing a figure atop of the mound.

His eyes snapped open in shock. His lips parted, but no sound could escape.

There, atop of the pile, a case of armor stood. It was battered and tarnished, exposed to the elements for too long put it in a horrible state of decay. It was no ordinary armor, however. The pauldrons curved up in lethal spikes—fashioned from the bone of once horrifying monsters. The metal was adorned with gold plating, which was now faded and rusty. The black leather that composed the majority of the body was torn and withered.

A skeleton was still inside the armor… and a golden crown rested upon its pale cranium. A lance twice the side of the figure was jammed right through the chest of the armor, protruding from the back as a sick means of keeping the dead figure upright.

Garen took a step back, his eyes still widened from the display. His hands trembled… and the breath in his lungs seemed to escape with no sign of retuning.

The armor belonged to the prince… his dear friend… The man he swore to protect with his life for the sake of the entirety of his people.

Jarvan Lightshield IV.

Garen couldn’t make any kind of noise of anguish. No cry of utter remorse. His head was swirling with darkness—drowning in an infinite blackness as the fire in his soul recessed to less than it was before. He dropped to his knees in defeat, arms slack and lifeless. His eyes couldn’t tear away from the monument—the one erected due to his own insolence. This was his true punishment. He had failed on a level no one could ever possibly amount to… and now he had to accept that.

The worst part of it was that Garen still had his task ahead of him. If he gave up now… Which leader would be next? Ashe? Karma? Azir? This was no longer for the sake of just Demacia… this was for the sake of all of Valoran. The man struggled to climb to his feet—his body feeling ten times heavier than it had before. He managed to close his lips, and he bowed his head to give a small prayer.

The warrior could feel his resolve slowly trickling back into his consciousness… almost as if the spirit of Jarvan was there… giving him a silent comfort…

…And a moment of intervention.

A rush of steel suddenly rushed by Garen’s head, and the Demacian quickly jerked back, his eyes open and adrenaline instantly pumping into his veins. As he took his step back, the weapon was swung forward to attempt another strike, but Garen quickly jumped backwards, and his greatsword was drawn. The weapon that attacked him was a spear, but it was fashioned with a three-pronged trident, creating a lethal claw of four points and three blades. The assailant wore very little—a brassard fashioned of crude steel that covered his left arm and shoulder, bound by leather around his lean, exposed chest. A red loin cloth covered his groin, and metal boots housed his feet and shins. A helmet was secured snugly around his head with a long black plume on the back… and hazel eyes glared at Garen with deadly intent. The Demacian braced himself for another stab of the spear, quickly blocking it with a burst of sparks.

“Die, traitor!!” The attacker shouted. The voice rang familiar to Garen’s ears. It had a light Ionian accent to it… and the tone was harsh. “You failed him! You failed us all!”

Garen grunted as he blocked another vicious stab, taking a step back at the same time. It took a moment, but the Demacian’s eyes opened with a horrified expression as he lowered his sword for a moment.

“Xin…?!”

A bloody cry emanated from the attacker as he charged forward, making a powerful thrust towards Garen’s stomach. The general barely had a moment to parry the move with a horizontal swing of his greatsword.

“My name… is _Viscero!_ ” Xin Zhao shouted before swinging his spear with one hand, the long black plume that was attached to his helmet twirling with his spin. The claw of metal scraped across the ground, aiming for Garen’s feet. Garen jumped just in time to miss the attack, landing only to block a horizontal attack that swung upward from the ground, traveling to the Demacian’s torso. The Senechal’s fighting was normally much more fluid and precise. These blows, however… they were wild and uninhibited. Garen was able to read each strike coming and block them just in time. Even though they lacked finesse, they were still fast and powerful. The Might of Demacia needed a moment to collect himself, so he shoved Xin Zhao away with a mighty heave from his shoulder. The man stumbled back, but remained upright and quickly readied his spear for another attack.

“I will avenge Jarvan! I will slay you and leave this land to the ruin it deserves!!”  Xin barked as placed his feet in an aggressive stance, the tip of his spear aimed directly at Garen’s head. Garen, needless to say, was dumbfounded that his friend and former weapons trainer was attacking him and making such accusations.

“Get a hold of yourself, Xin!” Garen retorted, holding his greatsword upright in two hands. He was not going to attack. He refused to make any strike that would put Xin’s life in danger, no matter what. “Darius is responsible for this darkness… justice must be done upon him!”

“Darius told me everything… everything you did to make things so easy for him to trample us!” the man cried out, not yet making his lunge to attack. “I watched him…” the man’s hands shook with rage as he grit his teeth tightly. “I watched that bastard torture Jarvan… just to let him die at my feet! It was your fault… None of this would’ve have happened if it weren’t for you!!”

Another lunge was produced from the spear. Garen swiped his sword to the left, deflecting the sharpened tips. His follow through was more powerful than Xin’s, and the man calling himself Viscero staggered to the side once. Garen produced no counter attack, and the spearman quickly righted his body to continue his assault. Xin Zhao’s words struck a chord deep inside Garen. He was right. If it weren’t for his carelessness, Demacia would have never been so easily overrun.  Guilt seeped into the Demacian’s bones as he blocked an incoming attack from Xin… this one being thrown overhead.

“Xi… Master Zhao…” He spoke wearily as he struggled to keep his arms up, pushing against Viscero’s force in order to prevent the spear from smashing into his skull.

“NO! DON’T CALL ME THAT!” Xin Zhao shrieked, yanking his spear back and thrusting it forward to impale Garen’s heart. The Demacian took a step to the side as he kept his greatsword lifted, the sharpened metal slicing through his jacket and glancing off the chainmail he wore beneath his tunic. The man grunted and swung down hard. With a snap, the spearhead of Xin’s weapon flipped twice before making a loud clang on the stone ground. The warrior then relieved the rest his former teacher’s weapon with a powerful back-handed swing with his left arm, striking the pole with enough force to jettison it from Xin’s hands, making it careen a few feet away from the two. Disarmed, Xin Zhao fell to his knees as Garen pulled his greatsword up and away from the man. He then slumped forward, resting on his hands and knees as pained noises of agony welled up from his chest.

“Kill me…” he groveled quietly. “I cannot go on like this…”

Garen slid his greatsword back into his scabbard, glad he did not have to coat the weapon with the blood of one of his friends. “No, Master Zhao…” Garen replied quietly as he started to kneel beside the crestfallen Seneschal.  Xin’s eyes glanced up to focus on the snapped spearhead that was within his reach.

That would do.

He lunged forward and grabbed the weapon at the point where it was severed from the shaft. With a quiet grunt, he pointed the weapon directly at his gut and plunged down into himself.

The points of the spear stopped just as it was about to puncture the skin.

“Xin… no…!” Garen growled with his hands wrapped around two of the sharpened blades of the trident. Blood from his hands slipped down across the blade and dripped onto the ground, adding fresh red liquid to the stains. Xin struggled against the force that prevented him from ending his existence, tears starting to build around his eyes.

“Let me be!” He shouted as he vainly attempted to force the spearhead into his body again. “Let me die!”

“You’re stronger than this, Xin!” Garen shouted back as he continued to pull the spearhead away from Xin’s exposed skin. “Don’t let Darius’ corruption overcome your resolve! You conquered the Fleshing, you can conquer this!”

Xin Zhao’s hands started to tremble as his strength was sapped. Garen’s were doing the same, but due to the blades of the spear digging into his palms. Finally, the Seneschal yielded with a defeated whimper. Garen pulled the spearhead away, and then threw the lethal weapon away; making sure it was well out of his friend’s reach.

“Then I will just perish here… with the Prince…” Xin mumbled quietly. He glared up to Garen, his hazel eyes showing clear signs of stress that no one man should have to endure on their own. Garen could feel his blood run cold just by looking at him. Darius had broken this once proud man…

…and Garen added another thing he blamed himself for to the ever-growing list.

“He kept forgiving you.” The Seneschal said bitterly. “That’s what burned the most.”

Garen’s eyes slid shut for a moment as he let out a long, pained sigh. Xin had been broken… but Jarvan refused… even with his last breath. That must’ve been what set Master Zhao over the edge… and Darius let him loose… like a starving dog. This was all too much to take in. Garen pursed his lips before looking back to the man with sad eyes.

“I hope you can forgive me someday, Master Zhao.” He spoke quietly. With a sharp inhale, Garen cocked his arm back and struck Xin at the base of the neck—just like how he was instructed to by Xin himself all those years ago. The former Viscero’s eyes rolled back and his body collapsed, knocked out cleanly by Garen’s strike. The Demacian stood, looking down at Xin Zhao’s prostrate figure. The man would be passed out for a decent amount of time… and hopefully when he woke up he’d be in a better state to try and reason with. Knowing his sister, she wouldn’t stay put forever… And she would come across the spearman. Garen only hoped that Xin Zhao would be more receptive to seeing her friendly visage in lieu of his grizzled, worn out expression. She could weep with him over the loss of their prince.

The man slowly stood upright, his eyes glancing back over to the horrid altar of death. The guilt of Jarvan’s fate swept over the Demacian like a monstrous wave. His hands curled into tight fists, his palms stinging from the deep wounds he had suffered while preventing Xin Zhao from ending his own life. Blood trickled between the cracks of his fingers and splattered onto the ground as the man focused on the pain. It was the only thing he could to combat his sorrow for losing his best friend, in that moment.

All of this pain… it came from one source, and one source alone.

That pain churned through his veins… which turned into a deep, bitter anger. The Demacian wanted revenge for everything that had happened to him. To see his home ravaged and his allies destroyed, it was clear that all of this was starting to cross a personal line. Garen started to walk up the stairs—the same set of stairs he had fled down upon when confronting Darius for the first time. His mind screamed for revenge to be done—to bleed the Mad Lord out and torture him for the same amount of time Garen had to suffer… It would be so easy to do. He could do it.

He _should_ do it.

The Demacian halted half-way up the staircase as a new wave washed over him.

It was cold and ominous—something that didn’t settle well with his sub-consciousness. He turned back to take one last look at the pile of bodies that lay in the courtyard. If Garen were to give into these raw, primal demands… how would be any better than Darius?

The anger devolved, turning into rampant pleading as he fought with himself to justify performing such an act. Now wasn’t the time for this! The cusp of battle was a time to steel one’s self and do what was _necessary!_

_What was right!_

Garen’s grip slowly unfurled, causing what blood he had managed to trap to spill onto the stone beneath him along with his open wounds. He took in a slow sigh, filtering the stench of death as he called upon strength and resolve.

The anger was still there… but it was something so much deeper than before. This was something coming from the depths of his soul. It cared not for what wrong had been done to him… but what travesties had been done to the nation—no—to the entirety of Valoran.

This… was _fury._

Garen’s pace continued, and before he knew it, his hand gripped around the knob of the door that would lead him towards the throne room. There was no hesitation as he swung the door open with a heavy hand, and then started down the hall. The massive door swung shut behind him, letting a painful noise echo through the shadowy, desecrated halls. He paid no attention to the defaced and shattered marble statues that represented Demacia’s greatest leaders and law bringers. He took no time to mourn over the torn, soiled tapestries and paintings that used to give the hallway a royal and immaculate appearance. His right hand moved up to unsheathe his greatsword. The weapon’s song was loud and clear as the edge slid across the metal mouthpiece, leaving another echo… this one composing a declaration of justice.

He was ready.

_“You shouldn’t have returned…”_

The dark voice countered the reverberations Garen had created, and that single sentence left the hall in a haunting silence. Garen’s eyes narrowed, and the greatsword in his hand shifted up ever so slightly, laying parallel with the floor below him. He couldn’t locate the position of where the voice came from, but he didn’t want to break into any form of battle stance, just yet. If Darius was trying to induce fear… he would quickly find his attempts to be performed in vain. No words came out of the Demacian’s mouth, and he simply waited for another taunt.

 _“If you’ve made it this far… then it is clear that you already felled my brother._   _You’ve walked straight into your perpetual torment, Garen.”_ The voice started to become more prominent, coming from behind. Garen slowly turned back to see a figure approaching him. At first, all the Demacian could see was a floating pair of luminescent white eyes.  As it approached, however, a full suit of black segmented armor adorned with golden spikes and trim came into view, reflecting the dusk hue of the hall. Dark rings of chainmail and cuisse plating clung to his thighs to lessen the weight upon his legs, which were armored with boots of similar design to his jagged chestplate and pauldrons. His gauntlets were fashioned to have a curved spike extending past his hands and effectively protecting his gloved appendages. A blood red cloak billowed behind the man’s wake, which curled around a raised collar of gold spikes to act as a guard for the back of his neck. In his right hand was a lethal bearded axe, fashioned with a gold metal face and a steel edge and hook, the butt of the axe fixed with another dangerous edge. Its haft was adorned with imperial red wrapping, and the pommel was shaped like a hollow spade, sharpened around its edges. A gold, single banded circlet hugged tightly to his forehead, lacking any real elegance as a crown or functionality as a helmet.

Garen’s eyes held no emotion as he shifted his weight onto his right side, standing tall as the figure made his deadly approach. The Demacian’s will had been steeled—and now on the cusp of battle, any fear or second thoughts he might’ve had vanished like dust being tossed in the wind.

“You would be wise to strike me down here and now if you plan for victory, Darius,” Garen warned, “for keeping me alive would only prove to be a worse fate for you.”

The Mad Lord tilted his head to the side as he raised his chin, looking down at Garen with a glare full of hatred, bloodlust, and madness. His lips curled into a wild, sneering grin. It was clear he was both amused by Garen’s resolve, but yet agitated that the man standing before him was not reduced to a sniveling, worthless puppet by now.

“Careful, Garen… You’re going to make me enjoy torturing you for all of your days more than I had already anticipated…” Darius started, raising his weapon to rest the butt of it upon his right pauldron as he set his left shoulder angled towards Garen’s right.

The General’s eyes locked with the Lord’s. The pulse of righteous fury circulated through his veins. He could feel those who were affected by his tyranny course through his entire body… giving him strength and resolve. He opened his mouth to speak, sealing his fate to engage his mortal enemy.

“You shall—“

_CRRRRRRRAAAACKK!!_

Garen’s words were instantly halted as Darius made a brutal and almost impossibly fast swing with one arm. The head of his fearful axe was buried into his right pauldron, and the Demacian could feel the dangerous edge digging into his skin as it snapped a few rings of the steel chainmail that lay beneath all of his layers, and he could instantly feel hot blood slide down his arm. His mind was rattled for a moment as the follow-through had enough strength to send Garen flying into a statue, and he collided with the solid marble with a sickening thud. His hand had let go of his greatsword during the initial impact, and it lay by the Noxian’s feet.

The Demacian should have known Darius was not going to fight with any kind of honor.

“Your armor bore the symbol of a long-dead country. I saw fit to dismantle it for you.” Darius mocked as Garen slowly brought himself to his feet. “I will give credit to your Silversteel, however—if that were any normal metal I’d have hewn you open like a pig.”

Garen let out a pained breath while leaning upon the statue, glanced to the Mad Lord once, and then looked down to the damage he had dealt. The pauldron had a deep, gaping wound of twisted metal right in the center of it—the mark putting a deep hole in the Wing of Valor that had endured so much during Garen’s travels.  Now… it was gone. The Silversteel acted like mere iron before Darius’s inhuman strength— never in Garen’s life had he seen the metal break like this. It made him worry that his greatsword would not be able to handle the fight… if he could get back to it.

“I am still alive, Darius…” Garen spoke boldly, his head lifting back up to look at the Lord. “…my fellow countrymen still live, as well…” The man stood tall, his hands curling into tight fists. Even without his weapon… Garen was not going to back away from the mad man.

“…As as long as we draw breath, Demacia will _always_ live!”

“Then I’ll cleave every last one of you into pieces!!” Darius shouted, rushing up to the Demacian with his axe in the air. This blow was aimed straight for his neck. Garen was able to dodge by ducking and rolling forward just as the head of the weapon made impact with the statue he was previously leaning upon. The marble shattered into jagged segments as it was quickly reduced into a pile of dust and rubble. Garen’s forward momentum allowed him to somersault across the ground, stopping right by his greatsword. The Demacian scooped the massive weapon up and spun it upright in his palm. Instantaneously, the weapon’s blade was coated with a soft golden light. Darius turned to face Garen, his head titled down with a vicious glare.

“You are mighty nimble for someone who has fought so much.” He scoffed. “If Draven and Sion couldn’t stop you, I thought setting Xin Zhao loose would be enough to break you… It seems you are more cold-hearted than even I, Garen… to cut down your former ally so ruthlessly after slaughtering my brother _and_ my Captain.”

Garen met Darius’s stare down with a hardened expression. The way Darius spoke about his fallen brother… it was as if he hadn’t cared that he was dead. Garen knew that his long time rival had truly lost his mind in that moment. Darius set Draven, Sion and Xin out as mere hurdles to overcome. The Noxian saw his own flesh and blood as nothing more than just a means to whittle away Garen’s strength— How utterly sickening.

 “You played Sion and Draven like pawns, so do not speak to me as if you had concern for them… and you must think of me as some kind of simpleton if you assume that I just killed one of my own,” Garen retorted curtly.

Darius’s lips turned upward into a sadistic grin.

“That’s certainly the case with Jarvan, is it not?!”

The Demacian’s lips turned into a darker scowl. He stood upright and raised his weapon, pointing the tip directly at Darius’s chest.

“Your poisonous words mean naught to me, deceiver. You have over-extended your lust for power, and your mind is ailed with wretched thought. Justice will come to you tonight…” Garen slowly rotated his hand, the blade of his sword turning horizontally to vertically. The Demacian could hear the blade humming with energy, eager to get on with the clash that was about to ensue.

“…and _I_ shall be its vessel.”

“The only thing that will come to me is your blood upon my axe!!” Darius spat as he charged forward, hunching his body down as he held his axe low to the ground. In a few steps, the Noxian was upon Garen, and he spun in a tight circle, keeping his axe low to aim for Garen’s legs. The Demacian had prepared his weapon, pulling it upright as Darius charged, and then swinging it quickly downward to meet the blade of the axe. With a brilliant flash of sparks and energy, the attack was blocked. Darius squinted his eyes at the sudden burst of light, flinching his head back just an inch in the process. As the light faded, Garen’s eyes darted down to his sword for a split second. From what he could tell the weapon remained unscathed by the counter. He wasn’t sure if it was the discharge of his soul that allowed for this to happen, or the act of the counter, itself.

Either way, he had no time to fully come to a conclusion as Darius was already making his next move. It came in the form of a hooking punch from his left arm, the curved claw of his large gauntlet poised to dig into Garen’s neck should the blow make its mark. Garen took a step back and swung his sword back up and around again to catch Darius’s armored punch, and his massive blade made contact with the thick metal of his gauntlet from the side. It made a dent in the armor, but was not nearly powerful enough to cause damage to Darius’s arm as the blade glanced off the armored plating. It did prove useful to cause the Noxian to lurch to the side, stumbling once as he tried to regain his footing. Garen took advantage of the warlord’s poor positioning, and he cocked the hilt of his greatsword back to smash it against the side of Darius’s skull. Bringing the greatsword’s blade around for a lethal strike would have proven too slow to execute—and the Demacian needed to start whittling down Darius if he planned to win this fight as he intended to. The solid metal pommel collided with the gold circlet, and the thin metal bent inward as Darius reeled back with a few clumsy steps. Garen remained where he stood, greatsword pointed towards the ceiling as he clenched it tightly with both hands, his eyes fixed on the man who was recollecting himself, putting a hand up on the point of impact. The damage of Garen’s strike caused the circlet to snap and dig into Darius’s skin—a thin stream of blood starting to trickle down the side of his face. His glowing white eyes filled with rage as he glared at the man who so brazenly dared to make such a foolish attack.

“Does your folly know no end?!” Darius growled, lowering his hand with a huff. “You write a long and painful death sentence for yourself…!”

The Demacian made no audible reply. One of the worries that lay in the back of his mind was dissipating. He made Darius bleed… meaning the warlord was not invincible…. but his strength was still gruesome and overwhelming. Garen could feel the man’s aura giving off a suffocating chill as he approached, readying his next attack. Darius held his left arm out at first, hefting his axe back in his right, the head of the weapon nearly touching the ground. With a roar, Darius swung the axe overhead as he thrust his weight forward. The reach of the axe easily extended to bear down over Garen, threatening to split in him in half. Garen quickly hopped backwards, and the top hook of the axe just grazed his chest, slicing the leather belts that held his damaged pauldron and scabbard upon his shoulder and back. As the items fell from his body, Darius’s axe smashed into the ground with a violent rumble. The area around the point of impact suddenly erupted with an upward spike of energy, as white as the power that occupied Darius’s eyes. Garen’s own eyes widened in response, but was ultimately knocked up and away from the explosion, causing him to flip twice mid air before crashing down onto the staircase that led up to the actual throne room... right on his back. The warrior’s spine groaned with throbbing aches as he slowly tilted his head up in attempts to get track of his bearings, once again. He could still feel the solid handle of his greatsword in his right hand—he wasn’t going to let the weapon get away from him as easily as before.

Before Garen could lift himself up completely, however, Darius had leaped into the air, the momentum carrying him straight to his target. The bearded axe was cocked back and held above the warlord’s head as it gleamed with a dreadful craving for Garen’s blood, along with Darius’s eyes. Gravity took its course, and Darius descended upon Garen, preparing to swing the axe downward, once more. The Demacian quickly sat upwards and lifted his sword up, channeling his soul energy through the blade to ignite it with golden energy—he was in no position to roll away from this strike. He was going to have to endure it.

The warlord landed near Garen’s legs and swung downward, the axe striking the broad side of the sword just as it was lifted up. A massive surge of power exploded from the greatsword while a terrible shock of pain shot up through Garen’s arm, which caused his arm to lower. That attack cracked a bone somewhere in his forearm, but it was not enough to fracture it completely. Darius staggered back from the attack as his axe bounced off Garen’s weapon; however, he managed to keep his footing upon the dilapidated staircase. With a growl full of contempt, Darius took a step forward, slamming a heavy knee upon Garen’s chest as he cocked his axe up: the sharpened pommel pointing downwards. The metal poleyn was smashed into the Demacian’s sternum, and it bowled him over with a solid strike while pinning him back down on the stairs. The Mad Lord then thrust his axe downward; aiming the lethal pommel at Garen’s left shoulder in hopes to impale the man. Garen let out an adrenaline-fueled cry as he shot his hand forward and intercepted the attack by grabbing Darius’s vambrace and bringing the motion to a halt. The gilded pommel stopped just as it cut into Garen’s skin—the jacket and chainmail already torn open due to Draven’s attacks. Blood pooled up around the wound as both men struggled against each other’s force; Darius’s strength slowly pushing the pommel in deeper.

“Your blood reeks with fear. It weakens you… and you lose your will to fight me.” Darius goaded, a wicked grin spread across his visage. He twisted the heft of his axe to start creating a malevolent wound in Garen’s flesh, and the Demacian couldn’t help the groan of pain that escaped from his lungs as he squeezed his eyes shut.  Between the throbbing in his arm and the torment being wracked upon his pectoral muscle, Garen was finding it difficult to fight through the pain he was experiencing. Even still; he gripped his hand tightly around the handle of his greatsword and started to open his eyes, letting Darius see the golden energy that weaved in and out behind his blue gaze.

“I will fight… until I have nothing left!” Garen muttered. The greatsword clinked against the stairs as he struggled to lift it up. Darius’s eyes snapped to the weapon, and his left hand snapped down to pin the weapon down.

“Then allow me to shred your humanity!!” the Noxian barked. Garen had anticipated the man’s move, and with a strained roar, he let go of his weapon and started to sit up—purposefully making the pommel move deeper into his chest. It was necessary if Garen wanted the leverage he needed…

…To pull out his dagger and thrust.

Darius’s eyes widened with surprise as he felt the weapon force itself into a thin gap between the armored plating on his side, the hot steel burying itself into his flesh. This was enough to catch him off guard—giving Garen the opportunity to let go of the dagger and unleash a wild punch square into his face. The force was enough to cause the warlord to reel back, his pommel exiting the wound as he tumbled down the stairs, his armor clanging loudly each time he rolled. Garen’s arm recoiled back as pain stabbed through his arm. His body wanted him to know that there was indeed an injury in his bone, and actions like that were only going to agitate it further. The Demacian had to ignore the pain and fight through it… because Darius was slowly climbing to his feet. Garen quickly grabbed his greatsword—he knew that was not going to be enough… but it was certainly better than nothing but a bruised forehead.

The two figures climbed to their feet, and their eyes locked on each other— a stare down that seemed to make the air stir with an uneasy buzz. The anxious noise was silent to the human ear… but for the two that stood in that desolated hallway, it seemed to be deafening. Without breaking their gaze, Darius pulled the dagger out of his body. A quarter of the blade was coated in his blood. Even with the quillion flush with his armor, the thick plating proved to help prevent the sharpened blade from pushing down deeper into his flesh. With a powerful flick of his wrist, Darius threw the dagger as hard as he could at the marble floor, and the blade embedded itself into the floor with a crack. He then cocked his foot back and struck the dagger with a kick by the hilt and forcing the blade to snap off of the handle. A small stream of red oozed out from the gap of his armor and seeped down the plating. Garen showed no fear as he hefted his greatsword in his right hand. He didn’t want Darius to know that he was injured… or it could be exploited.

“You made all that effort for naught, Garen.” Darius spoke in a provoking manner, his lips showing a smug grin. “How much more damage can you take before you collapse?”

Garen’s lips curled back to show a dark sneer. “I already told you, Darius... If you plan for victory, then you _will_ need to slay me.” He snapped back, his words dripping with poison. “I will not yield. Never to Noxus—and never to the likes of maddened tyrants like _you._ ”

“I _am_ Noxus!” Darius spat loudly, holding his arms out to emphasize himself.  “No one could bring your hypocritical country and its haughty inhabitants down like _I_ did! Swain was weak! As was Draven, Sion, Katarina— none of them could amount enough strength to do what was _necessary._ I brought Demacia to its knees… and all I needed was _strength._ Strength above all!!”

“Your thirst for strength drove you into insanity!” Garen spat back. “You used human lives like disposable tools all because there was a country with people that held honor and justice paramount instead of expansion and conquest. You attacked us… because you were _afraid_ of the light that we represented!”

The Demacian took a small step back, putting himself up even higher above Darius that he already was. His dark blue eyes were brimming with power—gold strips of energy flashing every other second. Garen’s soul was at its apex—and it was waiting for the host to release the flood gates.

“But light can never be smothered out! Try to bury it, and it will burn through the cracks—shining with even more power than it did before!”

“Me, afraid of Demacia?!” The Dark Lord let out a scoff full of ridicule before he glared up to Garen.  “Enough of this drivel— your words merely delay the inevitable.”

“At last—something we can truly agree upon.” Garen replied, his words coated with a judgmental sheen.  A sense of déjà vu seemed to wash over the Demacian for a moment. Over two years ago… he was in a similar scenario. Atop of a staircase, staring down at his long time rival turned into a bitter evil. He was battered and bruised, but this time… he was not going to let Darius break him. He was sure the man at the bottom of the staircase had other thoughts in mind—if he could even be called a man, at this rate.

Garen swung his sword out, and then he started down the staircase. The energy he summoned for his decisive strike started to coat his greatsword’s blade, starting at the base and running up to the tip. With a flash, the sword started to hum with a vibrant power, and Garen felt his body become lighter, which propelled his body down the stairs faster than before. He made no epic cry of battle. There was no declaration of justice, or what he fought for. He wanted to reserve those words for when they meant the most.

Darius didn’t wait for Garen to finish his descent, this time, and he took a few steps up the stairs before cocking his axe back and curling both of his hands around its heft. The bloodlust was heavy in the warlord’s eyes, and he swung the weapon horizontally just as Garen was within his reach.  The air trembled around the head of the axe as it tore through it, but not making contact with any flesh. Garen had jumped off the staircase at the last moment, using the positioning and the speed he had built up to propel him over Darius’s head and land on the solid, even ground below. He turned quickly, holding his weapon up to prepare his counter strike, only to see Darius already turned to face him, axe cocked back and swinging wildly with one hand. A grunt came from Garen as he felt the metal heft make contact with his left side, and then he was pulled in closer to Darius with a powerful tug with the underside of the axe’s head.

His vision went blank for a moment as he felt Darius’s skull smash against his own. He staggered backward, only to be grabbed by the left hand of the Noxian, pulled back in, and greeted with a violent knee to his gut. Then his body was forced back and skidding across the floor after being slugged with a powerful punch delivered to his chest. Garen could taste blood in his mouth, and he turned to his side after he stopped sliding to spit out a large amount of the crimson fluid. He didn’t stay upon the ground for long, and he quickly climbed back to his feet, despite the room spinning for him in his current state. Through the haze, he could see Darius’s figure rapidly approaching with his axe raised in hand. With a blink, his focus sharpened just in time to block an oncoming attack with his greatsword. Darius cocked back and struck again, swinging his axe to attack on the other side. Garen blocked it, as well, as the sparks around the two flew. Bloody teeth gnashed together, and the Demacian roared out, countering with a powerful and commanding thrust forward. The greatsword gleaned off of Darius’s armor as he took a step to the side, but the power that Garen had summoned was still flowing within the blade, and it instantly discharged before Darius could make a response. The soul energy was immense, and it sent a shock through Darius’s entire body. The warlord growled in pain as he took a weak step backwards as he stumbled , which gave Garen the opportunity to position himself and prepare for an overhead swing, coming down at an angle to strike Darius at the neck with the tip of his greatsword.

It seemed the power that rendered Darius in pain did not last long as he quickly blocked Garen’s attack with a swift backhanded swipe from his axe. That proved enough to allow the Noxian to go back onto the offense, his swings fast and full of power. Each one caused Garen the need to take a step back to regain footing, no matter how he prevented the weapon from embedding itself into his flesh. His forearm screamed each time their blades clashed, the vibrations antagonizing the fault that lay in his bone. Darius, despite what injuries he sustained, was not slowing down—and he was nowhere near being able to fall to the execution of Demacian Justice. The warrior was not sure how much power the Mad Lord of Noxus had truly consumed, but it was certainly enough to make Garen wonder just how long he could endure the ever increasing odds.

A powerful swing came from Darius’s axe—the attack angled low and swinging downward in an attempt to cleave into Garen’s left shoulder. The Demacian answered the attack with lifting the blade up to block, but was not expecting a last minute shift. Darius’s blade charged forward, and the axe collided with the blade. Similar to the eruption of power he had summoned before, a white explosion erupted from the axe. An anguished roar forced its way out of Garen’s lips as he felt his bone snap… and then an increasing pain boiled through his blood. It felt like his arm was being severed off with a white hot blade, moving inch by inch. Panic began to seize his nerves, and his hand involuntarily loosened the grip upon his greatsword. Before he could reinforce himself mentally to keep a hold, Darius cocked back a fist and smashed his gauntlet right on Garen’s temple. The Demacian’s vision went white, and all he could feel was his body collapsing upon the ground as the torment wracked his body. Next, he heard the greatsword’s metal skidding across the ground… out of his reach.

_No. Not like this!! I cannot let it end—_

Garen coughed violently, more blood coming out of his mouth and splattering onto the ground. His left arm shook weakly as he struggled to keep himself from falling completely prostrate, but a wicked kick to his gut caused him to roll several feet, making the gap from him and his now abandoned greatsword even further than it was before. Garen stopped upon his back, and between his deep and desperate gasps for air, he could hear Darius making a slow approach to his body.

“You are certainly stubborn, Garen— But this is over.” Darius scoffed. “I will credit you for making me bleed—no other person has been able to do that for a very long time.” He lowered the blade of his axe and slipped it up to Garen’s neck. “But in the end… it was naught but to cause me a nuisance. I cast only an ounce of my power into you… it looks like the corrosion is taking its hold properly.”

Garen still couldn’t see where he was—the white in his vision slowly fading to grey. All he could feel now was the cold steel upon his neck and the pain coursing through every fiber of his being. With a small grunt, he lifted his neck up, which made the blade cut into his skin. New blood leaked from the gash and slid down his neck as the Demacian mustered the most vicious, scornful visage he could ever create.

“If it is over… why then do I still live?” Garen asked, his tone insulting and dark. “You haven’t completed your task until I am with my ancestors—“ 

“Your ancestors will be forgotten.” Darius growled, not moving his weapon away from Garen’s neck. “As will your family… and your country. You will endure and beg for death. It will not come to you. Only when your legacy has been completely eradicated— _then_ I may consider your request.”

The blade was lifted from Garen’s throat, and Darius turned his back to the fallen man. The warlord began to walk away from him, heading towards the courtyard.

“You could not deal justice even if such a thing existed.” Darius mocked. His words seemed to reverberate with a haunting noise before they settled into the declining tension.

The words echoed in Garen’s mind. His vision had returned, but it was faded around the edges… and slowly turning into complete darkness. His body was broken, and the pain Darius had set upon him was still rolling beneath his skin. It felt as if his right arm wasn’t even there, anymore, despite how it twitched and writhed. Despite this… his lungs could take in air. His job was not yet complete. His soul was thrashing and wild—a tempest of unimaginable fury. It demanded that he was not done…

…And somehow, his body complied.

Slowly, but ever so surely, Garen rolled onto his stomach, and then climbed back up to his feet. He could see Darius stop walking, and then turn back to see the man. At first, Darius’s eyes showed a genuine surprise. How could a man stand with such torment being administered? Anger burned in the Noxian’s vision, and he then shifted fully to face him.

“So, you wish for your legs to be shattered, as well? It will make it harder for me to drag your body across the streets you so foolishly cherished, but I suppose it must be done.” Darius spoke as he rolled his neck.

“Break my body all you want. Your justice still waits.” Garen muttered with a dry throat. “There are others here who will see that this task is completed.”

“You mean like your sister? I will bring her to you—“

Darius turned to grin evilly at the man.

“—and then I’ll see to begin your torment. She is an able-bodied woman. I think she’d do fine to bring me a son…” A deep laugh resonated in the hall as he hefted his axe back to prepare a lethal strike to his knees.

“…And an even better way for you to witness your morale crumble into dust!”

Garen’s eyes snapped open.  He dared to speak such a threat to his face? He _dared_ challenge the sanctity of Luxanna’s innocence _and_ the truth of justice? The tempest of his soul churned over. He could feel it evolve into something even more pure and volatile. Whispers of his consciousness spoke to him as if they were sages of eons past—giving him ideas that had never been thought of, before.  If the true weapon was the self, and the sword was merely the extension…

…Then why couldn’t the soul follow the same purpose?

Time seemed to slow down for Garen as Darius started to make his crippling swing. The pieces of the puzzle started to come together. The body was the vessel of justice. Justice was the weapon… and in this case… _he_ was the sword.

The blue in his eyes were gone—now replaced with a brilliant and solid golden energy. His left hand started to move upwards. The axe approached his knees. The air around him felt alive…

...And then everything went silent— If only for a fleeting moment in his mind.

**_“JUSTICE!!!”_ **

Garen threw his arm down, and a massive surge of light suddenly descended upon Darius. He had called upon the ultimate power of his soul as he always done in the past… but this was so much more. The form of the energy was an unrefined, massive column of golden light. The room’s silence was instantly consumed by the unwavering surge, and it sounded like a bomb had gone off inside the hallroom, which only echoed off the high walls. The ground beneath crumbled into dust, turning into a crater. Unlike the Demacian Justice that Garen would call upon, this power did not simply appear in the form of a greatsword and then vanish. It remained, pulsing with pure force as all of Garen’s might rained down upon Darius in a cascading pillar for a few seconds, shaking the earth and causing the building’s foundation to creak under the pressure. The Demacian’s knees instantly gave out on him as he staggered back onto his backside, watching the power take control. He swore he could hear a muffled scream of agony from within the light, but the flow of energy was simply too immense to be overpowered.

The Demacian felt light-headed. He had just dumped his entire soul into one attack. The agony that remained in body from Darius was still writhing inside of him. Now that he was empty of the energy that would normally mitigate that torment, it came back in full force. He did everything he could to contain himself as he clutched his trembling arm close to his chest… but he could feel the pain crawling up into his vision, increasing the rate at which the darkness rolled in and occupied what could be seen. As the pillar dissipated, Garen’s eyes rolled back into his skull, and he collapsed on the ground. A deep breath left his lips—and his body lost its consciousness.

 

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A body stirred. It was battered and completely distraught. A mind desperately tried to piece recent memories back together. All it could recall was clashing steel, blood, and powers beyond mortal comprehension. That mind tried to reach out to the body it controlled, making a command to move anything it could. Nothing responded.  Why? Muffled words slowly started to beat upon ears. They made no sense… it was as if the person talking was underwater.

The body was shifted up. The head was being angled back. Muted words still spoke. Another attempt to move was made. Nothing. Air was suddenly forced into the lungs. The body started to feel firm presses being pushed down onto its chest. Another blast of air. More pushing against its chest… and the heart began to respond. It pumped slowly, pushing what blood it could through the veins… waking up the body in a painfully slow process. The brain commanded the body to move, and it was instantly greeted with a sharp, throbbing soreness. The lungs drew in air on their own violently, only to reject the air at first with horrid coughs. A gasp, more controlled this time, brought in the right amount of air in, and the body could feel a warm hand press against its face.

_"Garen!”_

That name. That was… his. He was Garen. Where was he? Who was speaking? What had just happened? He made a low groan before he found his left arm shifting up, searching for the body that was above him. His hand found another. It was much smaller than his, but it gripped tightly.

_"Garen, oh gods…! Can you hear me?”_

The voice was highly registered, but it was full of panic. It belonged to a female, he could tell that much. His mind slowly started to come to realize who it was.

“Lux?” He croaked out. His throat felt like the Shuriman desert.

He forced his eyes to open…

…only to see nothing. Only darkness.

“Wh-where are you…?”

“Garen… I’m right here.” Lux replied in a tone that was deescalating from the terror it was previously experiencing. However, a small chill ran up her spine as her bright blue eyes observed her brother’s. Instead of the familiar, deep dark blue his eyes held, they now sported a pale, icy grey hue. Garen’s hand moved from hers, seeming to run into her face rather ungracefully. His fingers curled into her cheek slightly before shifting up across her face. He could feel wet tears set into his leather glove. Garen’s eyelids blinked. His vision still had nothing to yield.

“I… can’t see.” Garen sighed out, his hand moving away from Lux’s face. He slowly started to sit up, despite his body protesting to remain on his back, and his sister’s own worried berating. His head slowly moved left and right. His eyes darted around desperately to see if they could find any kind of light… but to no avail.

“Garen…” Lux put a hand on his back as she knelt by the man. “Don’t… don’t worry about that right now. You’re alive. You did it. Darius is…”

The woman looked back to the crater where the Mad Lord lay. His body was completely limp. The power that had surged in his eyes was now gone, replaced by two empty black holes. The expression on his face was lifeless, and his armor was completely intact. The cloak he lay upon pooled around his body, tattered and ripped from what just transpired.

“…He’s dead.”

Garen’s head slowly turned to the direction of Lux’s voice. “...Then my task has been sought out to its fullest.” He spoke quietly. His hand slowly moved to hold onto his right shoulder. He couldn’t feel the appendage, at all. The attack that Darius had struck… it seemed to have paralyzed it. His soul energy couldn’t replenish this kind of damage. He knew the bone was broken, but he couldn’t feel it in the slightest. Even still—his body felt empty, void of the warmth he was so accustomed to. It was almost as if the power of his soul had dried up—the power he cast completely draining him of every last ounce of power he might’ve had.

He was blind. His right arm was likely gone.

His soul was rendered useless.

A smile slowly spread across his lips.

The vessel of justice had endured, it seemed.

“Now Demacia is liberated… and it can be restored.”

Lux pursed her lips as she choked back a soft sob, but she nodded slowly.

“Yes… it is.” She responded quietly, moving to shift her hands around Garen’s large body to hug him. There were too many emotions for the Lady of Luminosity to process, right now—all she could do was cling to her brother and thank the gods that he had not expired.

“Help me up, Luxanna… Please.” Garen spoke softly after a moment of lingering silence. She hesitated for a moment, but then decided to comply with Garen’s request. She had a feeling he would attempt to bring himself up on his volition if she told him he needed to rest. The mage stood up, bending over to drape his left arm over her shoulders. With a light grunt, she began to hoist Garen upwards. The warrior’s feet shifted to plant themselves upon the ground, and he slowly stood upright, leaning slightly on his sister for support.

“The head of the snake has been severed… but our brothers fighting still do not know.” Garen sighed out. “We need to spread the word post-haste. Can you find Darius’s axe?”

Lux nodded. “It’s beside him.”

“Bring it to me. I will be able to stand on my own.”

It took a moment to untangle herself from her brother’s mangled body, but she slid into the crater caused by Garen’s onslaught. She managed the hoist the massive axe up without much of a strain—she had always been stronger than she looked. She slid the axe onto the marbled flooring before she picked herself up out of the crater.

“Here.” Lux slid the haft of the axe into Garen’s hand as she returned to his side. His hand gripped around the cold weapon. It was heavier than his greatsword—but that was more than likely due to the mass of décor that was used to embellish the axe in the fear Darius cherished in exploiting. He rolled his shoulder a little, adjusting to the weight as he nodded once.

“Now… we need to get to the Throat of Demacia… assuming Darius didn’t have it destroyed.” Garen spoke.

“He didn’t. He used the horn plenty of times to remind any Demacians that we were subject to his wrath at any time, and to rally the Noxians together when it was time for another execution.” Lux responded as she started to turn Garen towards the stairs that led to the throne room. The Throat of Demacia was a horn fashioned by the country’s most brilliant minds to make a device that could carry messages across the land from the comfort of the capital. The two Crownguard siblings climbed up the stairs slowly, silence permeating between the two of them. There was so much that needed to be said, but neither of the two knew where to start.

Garen took in a slow, paced breath as they reached the throne room. He could feel an air of menacing evil in the room, even with Darius now gone from the world. Perhaps it was a good thing he could not see—the throne itself was covered in Noxian banners and colors, and the state of its disarray was worse than the hall he had just done battle in.

Lux urged Garen forward, moving the man toward the outer balcony that overlooked the majority of the city. It seems like his sister didn’t want to linger in the throne room, either. Lux could see the destruction and chaos this game of conquest had ensued. After a moment to collect herself, she guided her brother to the Throat of Demacia, placing him before the mighty tool’s mouth piece.

Garen took in a slow breath, taking just a second to think over what needed to be said. He could smell the smoke in the air from fires being cast by Noxian defenses. The noises of battle, however, seemed to be muted to the warrior. The attack he had summoned to defeat the Mad Lord seemed to have garnered the attention of the entire city. He swallowed at the lump in his throat, and then unleashed his voice:

“Demacia is reclaimed! Darius is no more!” He shouted into the horn. His voice echoed throughout the air as he hoisted the axe up over his head, the weapon gleaming in the dying sunlight. A sudden surge of elation and hurrahs began to fill the air. The warrior kept the axe in the air for a longer moment before lowering his arm to lean back towards the horn.

“Any Noxian still living—surrender your arms! This night belongs to justice!”

Another round of cheering, this one louder than before, rose to the heavens as the sun started to lower itself behind the horizon. Garen took a step back, letting go of the axe as he let out a long overdue sigh of dwindling exasperation. He moved back, stumbling into the back of the wall before sliding down it. The axe clanged as it fell to the floor, and Lux was already at Garen’s side, her hands on his wounded torso.

“It’s over.” Garen breathed out. “I can now face the gods with no regret.”

“You speak as though you’re already dead, Garen.” Lux said, her tone doing the best it could to remain upbeat and positive, but Garen could hear her underlying sadness. “You need to see the fruits of your labor come to fruition.”

Garen’s eyes gradually slid shut before he took in a deep breath. “I will not see Demacia be reformed.” He said solemnly.  “I will… not likely see ever again.”

He wanted to tell her that he was still expecting the executioner’s block for the treason he committed two years ago. For now, however, it was best left unsaid. When the council was reformed… they would cast the proper judgment. Someone needed to be put to blame for the death of Jarvan. Who better than he?

“We-we don’t know that, Garen.” Lux choked between deep, heaving breaths. “I’ll find a way to bring your sight back—your last visions of Demacia cannot be a city in ruin! You don’t deserve it!”

“Luxanna…” Garen’s voice remained quiet and somber. “…I would easily exchange more than my eyesight to have Demacia back to its former glory—no. I know it will reach a higher glory than before. All of Valoran will see how we endured… and all will look to our country as the standard for freedom and righteousness.”

His hand reached out to find Lux’s shoulder. Lux covered her hand with her own, leaning her tear-stained cheek against it. The silence between the two would short-lived, and Lux began to openly weep, moving to hug Garen tightly. Garen’s hand shifted around to her back, holding her close to his chest.  The large warrior didn’t speak, he just let his sister bawl and unleash all of the emotion she had been storing. It was therapeutic… and long overdue.

As the cold of the night started to settle into the air, his head cocked back, and a tear rolled down his cheek. He had reserved his tears for this moment—the one where he could cry for the loss of his countrymen… but at the same time…

…the genuine hope for a better tomorrow.

Demacia would now truly live.

And Garen didn’t need to be there to know it would thrive.

 


End file.
